


Dabberblimps

by mizsphinx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Diary/Journal, Employer/Employee, F/M, Lucius Big Bang, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 08:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5085703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizsphinx/pseuds/mizsphinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All 20 of his house-elves freed, Lucius is forced to find a housekeeper for his manor. Luna Lovegood, despite her obvious lack of experience, is hired for the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dabberblimps

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Never have, never will. A pity.

**Dabberblimps**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Friday 14th June, 2002:_

…had I foresight of the ramifications of that odious Granger twit’s ‘House-elf Emancipation’ scheme, I would have fought the passing of such a bill with much more vigour than I’d invested. Alas, what is done cannot be undone, and now all twenty of my house-elves have departed to parts unknown. It is ridiculous for anyone to assume that I, Lucius Malfoy, will attend to the upkeep and cleaning (or any cleaning whatsoever) of a fifteen-room mansion. I have therefore made discreet advertisements for a maidservant…

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Tuesday 18th June, 2002:_

Unfortunately, I’ve yet to discover an individual suitable for the position. It comes as a great surprise to me that most of the applicants have failed to fulfil my basic requirements: youth and attractiveness. Thus far, the applicants have been varying measures of disappointing: too hideous, too overweight, too underweight, or too old.

Notably, there was one particular applicant by the name of Madame Durand. If ever Minerva McGonagall had a twin, Madame Durand would be such. Mere seconds into the interview she voiced her refusal to clean my master suite. She then made the laughable suggestion that I might ravage her upon the linens she’d recently spread upon my bed.

I laughed.

If I were to judge by her angry stride out of my manor, it appeared that she’d not meant it in jest.

Pity.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Friday 21st June, 2002:_

Merlin’s saggy old balls! This is absolutely absurd! I’ve had enough of this! How is it possible for a wealthy man such as myself to go hungry? My food stores are woefully depleted, but…I refuse! I refuse to be seen…grocery shopping! I am Lucius Malfoy! I will not starve to death like a common street urchin!

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Saturday 22nd June, 2002:_

Blast it all! I’ll need a new cooker.

~~I have learnt, firsthand, that I am not as fine a chef as I have believed myself to be.~~

That was outrageous humility. I am a fantastic chef. However, it is the tool that has failed me. In my attempt to flee the Crete that was Hunger, my cooker could not withstand the magnificence of my cooking abilities. Instead, it burned. Obviously, it was of the cheapest quality. It can only explain its imperviousness to my Aguamenti charms when it blazed afire. I shall purchase a new cooker post-haste and be rewarded with the fine, delicious meals I deserve.

~~I have also learnt that charred steak is palatable once followed swiftly with water.~~

Some experiences are best forgotten.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Tuesday 25th June, 2002:_

Narcissa and her lover, Giorgio, visited today. I couldn’t help but notice the enormous jewel she sported on the finger that had once held the gold band signifying our union.

I admit—I became jealous. I became jealous because she has acquired a steady shag, whereas I am left to soothe myself with Madame Thumb and her four assistants.

No matter. I am confident that I will fulfil my dreams. My hopeful expectations for my new, burden-free life may have been met with the cruel sneer of Reality, but I will persevere. I will have an abundance of sex with women half my age. I will attend parties filled with debauchery of the criminal kind. I will travel to far-reaching lands and sample the fruits of their exotic women.

I, Lucius Malfoy, am entitled to the best and only the best. I shall never want for anything. Never.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Wednesday 26th June, 2002:_

I have finally acquired a maidservant. I am wary of this decision.

Miss Luna Lovegood: a strange young woman, indeed. She waltzed into my manor without so much as a greeting knock, felt up my curtains, exclaimed that my parlour was filled with…blibbering…something, and addressed me as ‘Mr Lucius.’

Despite her bulging eyes, she blinked infrequently. She wore fruits for earrings and a necklace fashioned with what appeared to be corks, placed her wand behind her ear for safekeeping, and spoke as though she were perpetually amazed.

When tasked to list her housekeeping experiences, this was her response, inflected with her misty tones, “When mum died, I was the only one who could get rid of the Nargles. Dad was rubbish at catching them.”

Although an inner voice cautioned me not to follow this conversation, I was helpless against my curiosity. I asked her, “Nargles? What are those?”

“Oh, the worst! They’re thieves; mischievous, tiny little creatures, they are. Taking things that aren’t theirs and hiding them.”

“I have never heard of the existence of these creatures,” I replied—with much disdain, I must add. However, she appeared to have confused my disbelief with ignorance for she responded, “No, I suppose you might not. They prefer to live in mistletoe, you see. And you don’t have mistletoe, Mr Lucius.”

I suppose I have only hired the girl purely to quell the diminutive guilt residing within my heart. I remember imprisoning her in my cellar those many years ago during my Regrettable Period. Upon facing her I recalled her stoicism, her refusal to appear terrified of her dire situation, and her unfailing cheery disposition even while closeted in a cellar with an uncertain future before her.

However, it seems she has either (impossibly) forgotten about that episode, or she has let bygones be bygones in her quest for employment. Whatever the case, I could have hardly denied her.

Additionally, she met my basic requirements.

Good.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Friday 28th June, 2002:_

Albeit Miss Lovegood’s culinary abilities are of surprising excellence, the same cannot be said for her cleaning skills. In her attempts to tidy the manor, she manages to dirty it further. Hardly twenty-four hours within her stay, and she has already broken two of my father’s priceless vases, spilt red wine on my ivory carpet, and made the portrait of my great-great-grandmother disappear.

The latter was her saving grace from an immediate dismissal. I have suffered the sight of that hideous portrait for years, unable to remove it. Fortunately, the girl has done me a commendable service. She will stay for now.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Sunday 14th July, 2002:_

Conversations with Miss Lovegood are never a dull affair. Granted, I find her beliefs in unseen and unheard of (therefore non-existent) magical beings beyond nonsensical, but the ease in which she can construct a riveting discussion between us upon the most mundane of topics is remarkable. Or maybe this is a sign that my sharp intelligence has so waned in the past few years that I would find inane conversations fascinating in the first place. Or maybe it is incredibly telling how lonely I have become that I will take comfort in the odd and dreamy wanderings of Miss Lovegood’s mind.

This will not do. Now that I’ve found my maidservant in Miss Lovegood, there is no obstacle in my path to fulfil my most urgent needs. Loath as I am to do so, I must pay a visit to Madame Camille’s ~~whorehouse~~ ~~brothel~~ establishment at once. I’ll eventually have no need for these places. Soon enough, word that I, Lucius Malfoy, most handsome and wealthiest wizard in existence, am available will spread far and wide, and women a-plenty will flock to my master suite without delay.

I look forward to this imminent occasion with much anticipation.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Tuesday 23rd July, 2002:_

I’ve been invited to Philius Bloomsbury’s annual dinner function on Saturday. Due to Bloomsbury’s obvious impeccable taste in dinner guests by inviting me, I have decided to attend this function. However, I’ve made a grievous mistake by inviting Miss Lovegood to be my companion to this dinner. Had she not appeared so wistful by the prospect of visiting Bloomsbury’s beautiful manor to affirm ‘whether Dabberblimps lived in their lake,’ I would not have suggested she come along. It still galls me that I so easily succumb to Miss Lovegood’s wishes at the littlest provocation.

No matter. It is the first and the last that Miss Lovegood will ever inspire me to make such uncharacteristically thoughtful decisions. In the meantime I shall make the best of the situation by proclaiming my availability to the witches at this dinner.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Saturday 27th July, 2002:_

…The remaining half of the attendees of Bloomsbury’s dinner, who had not already believed Miss Lovegood to be my daughter, believed her to be my wife. I am still outraged by the former and amused by the latter.

I would never spawn such a flighty, heedless, inelegant (she walks about the manor barefooted, for Merlin’s sake!), strange individual from my loins. I have my successful, stable son, Draco, to prove this fact.

Furthermore, as much as it humours me that they could easily mistake Miss Lovegood for Narcissa (I dearly hope she hears of this), I find it absurd that anyone could envision Miss Lovegood as my wife. Surely they know I’ve better taste in women.

~~Albeit, on an immature and unquestionably girlish vein, her given name paired with my surname is, indeed, pleasing to the eye: Luna Malfoy.~~

Ridiculous.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Thursday 1st August, 2002:_

“What do you do all day in your study, Mr Lucius?”

This was Miss Lovegood this afternoon in my study while she cleaned as I tried to ~~solve yesterday’s Daily Prophet’s insidiously complicated crossword puzzle~~ work. She was polishing the windows.

“Important things,” I answered in justifiably crisp tones.

“What sorts of things?”

“Important things that do not concern you.”

“So, nothing then?”

I looked up from my ~~puzzle~~ work and was met by a surprisingly pleasant sight. Miss Lovegood, in her attempt to polish sections of the window that were beyond her reach, had begun to stretch herself taut on tiptoe, advertising the inward curve of her spine and the subsequent projection of her ~~young firm arse~~ ~~bum~~ posterior. Swiping her hand left to right against the glass, her ~~lovely behind~~ entire body swayed and jiggled from the effort. I could not avert my gaze.

Alas, she discovered me staring, and I saw Miss Lovegood smirk for the first time. A knowing, triumphant curling of the corners of her mouth as if she had purposely set out to entice me and was fully aware of her success. For this reason, it was on the tip of my tongue to order her out of my house, but then she mentioned the prospect of grilled steak for dinner. I decided to give her another chance.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Monday 26th August, 2002:_

Today during my daily walk around the grounds, I discovered Miss Lovegood dancing in my garden. She was wearing a light dress with ghastly, unattractive colours and ruffled layers. Standing before my blue hydrangeas, she hummed and danced slowly—sensually—curving her spine, rotating her hips, and curling her arms in front of her face and over her head. Her hair fell free, and it swayed with her movements and the light breeze coming from the east.

Transfixed, I stood and watched her. I became conscious of the way the sunlight transformed her ugly dress into the consistency of lace, awarding me a perfect outline of her body beneath. She danced, seemingly unaware of my presence. Her limbs were as lazy and fluid in their motions as the hydrangeas in the wind. To my horror, I realised that I had become aroused by such an innocent sight. I could not stop the resultant imagery of her moving with that same grace and pliancy ~~beneath me as we~~

Absurd.

She eventually ceased her childish antics and turned away from my hydrangeas. She did not seem surprised by my standing behind her.

“You know, Mr Lucius, I don’t like dancing much,” she said.

“Is that so?” I replied with the sufficient amount of stiff haughtiness.

“Yes. I really don’t. But it’s good for the flowers, you see. Dancing makes them happy.”

My sarcasm could not be denied. “Indeed?”

“Indeed.” She nodded and pointed at the swaying flowers. “Do you see? Do you see how happy they are now that I’ve danced for them? You ought to do it more, Mr Lucius.”

“Miss Lovegood, if ever a day comes where you discover me dancing for vegetation, please do not hesitate to hex me into unconsciousness. Or better yet, carry me off to St. Mungo’s.”

She covered her mouth with her hand and threw her head back in a laugh, her other hand curving around her sternum. As I watched her shoulders shaking, her laugh subsided into a chuckle, and it brought to bear the memory of the last twenty years filled with pretentious smiles and tittering. I then came to realise how wonderful it felt to hear genuine amusement after so long.

How empty is my life that provoking Luna Lovegood to laughter fills me with pride? And why do I constantly succumb to the simplest whim of this woman?

For, albeit indubitably ludicrous, when Miss Lovegood suggested we dance together to ensure continued happiness of my hydrangeas, I agreed.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Wednesday 18th September, 2002:_

Draco came for a visit. He spent yesterday night here at the manor before departing to Austria today.

Thank Merlin he is gone.

I love and am immensely proud of my son. Although his formative years – my Regrettable Period – cannot attest much to this fact, and though I’ve never uttered the appropriate words, I’d like to believe he knows these things. A man’s words are only as good as his actions, and so for these past four years I’ve fought to rectify and rebuild a relationship with my son. It has progressed well enough that he visits me of his own volition, and not of familial duty.

He is a Quidditch player now; a Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons. In the past I might have seen such employment beneath him, but he seems happy with his choice, and I am therefore content as well.

Unfortunately, it is typical for sport players – especially those as successful and as much glorified as my son has become – that they develop an unsettling conceitedness, the need to constantly remind those around them of their heightened status, and the expectation of continued admiration. My son is no exception to this rule.

Upon discovering Miss Lovegood, a former schoolmate, to be my housekeeper, Draco proceeded to boast at length about his prowess on the Quidditch field, repeatedly mentioned his significant wealth, and gloated over his popularity with witches and wizards alike. This is not uncommon behaviour from Draco, but it irritated me beyond reason when I noticed the rapt attention Miss Lovegood paid to him. How she laughed and smiled and made enquiries and appreciative comments…

Needless to say, I excused myself from dinner to my study as soon as was politely possible.

Later that night I found Miss Lovegood, per her schedule, turning down my bedsheet in preparation for my night’s rest. When she’d finished, she turned to me and said in too innocent a tone:

“Draco’s got nicer.”

“Perhaps,” I responded. I began to unbutton my shirt in the hope that she would view this as a message to leave. She did not.

She came closer. “And more handsome. His chin was pointy.”

“Miss Lovegood –” My irritation had resurfaced and I was prepared to send her away. However, she stepped closer still – far too close than what was proper for a servant and her master – and inclined her head slightly to the left. My hands stilled in the unbuttoning of my shirt.

“But do you know what, Mr Lucius?” she said. “I think you’re nicer. I think you’re much, much more handsome than Draco, too.”

I was too amazed to say anything in return, much less stop her when she swerved around me and out of my bedroom. As I lay in bed later, I questioned myself as to why I’d felt so annoyed with my son and even more so when Miss Lovegood praised him. The notion that I was ‘jealous’ of my son came to me; jealous that he’d so easily captivated Miss Lovegood with his tales of glory, and had made her laugh in mere hours whereas it had taken me months to achieve that feat.

I had initially vehemently disagreed, but it dawned on me today that I was, indeed, jealous. However, the idea that it concerned Miss Lovegood was preposterous. No. I was only jealous of my son’s popularity with women. Yes. That was it. It had absolutely nothing to do with Miss Lovegood.

It’s just a simple matter of suffering a eunuch’s life. I need a good shag.

I daresay a visit to Madame Camille’s establishment should solve this problem post-haste.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Friday 27th September, 2002:_

“I never knew you visited whorehouses, Mr Lucius,” were the first words Miss Lovegood greeted me with this morning.

I did not know what appalled me the most: her bluntness or her horrific transfiguration of my dining room into vibrant and varying degrees of yellow and orange.

“I don’t see how that is any of your concern, Miss Lovegood,” was my sharp and appropriate response.

“Oh, but it is if I am to do your laundry, Mr Lucius,” she answered in light tones as she set about serving my breakfast.

In an effort to change the course of such an improper conversation, I tried to address the unauthorised transforming of my elegant dining room into the similar themes of a Muggle funhouse. This did not deter her.

“Are they any good?” she asked, surprising me yet again with her frankness. “I suppose they are. They’d have had practice, you see. Lots. D’you think I’d do well in a whorehouse, Mr Lucius?”

I did not answer Miss Lovegood. I ignored her in favour of my meal. She did not seem to mind this for she carried on with her other duties, humming as she did so.

Later whilst enjoying an afternoon nap, I dreamt. In this dream I’d just purchased two hours worth with one of Madame Camille’s ~~whores~~ attendants. Upon entering one of the garishly decorated rooms within the establishment, I realised that I had not specified whom I’d like to ~~fuck~~ service me. Therefore, it surprised me when I encountered a woman lying spread-eagle upon the bed.

The interior was dim save for two candles standing sentry on the bedside table. Their muted glow illuminated the woman’s body on the bed, and her hair shined golden. Her pale skin was given colour by the glow of the candlelight, and as I drew closer, I could see the womanly contours of her body. Her slender arms were splayed across the pillows. There was a gentle rising of her breasts with each breath she took, their rose-coloured peaks curled into firmness. Her spread legs readily afforded me the sight of her ~~pink cunt~~ ~~snatch~~ ~~pussy~~ womanhood.

My eyes feasted on this magnificent offering with unabashed greediness while my body grew steadily aroused. When I lifted my gaze to look upon her face, I found her features silhouetted by the darkness where the candlelight did not reach.

“Look at me,” I said to this beautiful creature, and when she disobeyed, I said it again.

She then slowly turned her face to look at me, and just as I’d recognised the naked woman to be Miss Lovegood, Miss Lovegood prodded me awake.

“Dinner is nearly finished. Would you like some tea?” she asked softly. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, her hip pressed against my side.

I sat up, fearful that she knew what I’d been dreaming and was aware of my arousal. Horrified that she might have seen the evidence, I tried placing my hands in my lap to conceal it.

“Yes, Miss Lovegood. I’d like that,” I said, hoping that she would bustle off to the kitchen and leave me to conceal the evidence permanently, but she remained seated.

“Was it a good nap?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you dream anything?”

I hesitated before replying, “Yes.”

In her softest voice yet, “About me?”

It was the most direct a gaze I’d ever maintained with Miss Lovegood. I considered lying to her, telling her no and demanding she carry on with her duties, but I was intrigued by her reaction. I wanted to see what she would say or do when I told her the truth.

“Yes. It was about you, Miss Lovegood.”

“Was it a nice dream?”

“Yes. A very pleasant one.”

She smiled. “Lovely.”

She got to her feet and returned to the kitchen to continue with dinner.

Afterwards, as I sat there thinking about my dream and our exchange, and feeling hopeful for some inexplicable reason, a horrifying realisation came to me:

I, Lucius Malfoy, wanted Luna Lovegood.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Thursday 3rd October, 2002:_

How does one go about courting a woman like Miss Lovegood?

Isn’t it unethical? After all, she is my servant. If I am to attempt to garner her affections, it will not do to have her cleaning my manor.

What if she rejects me? The possibility is high. I was once her captor. I am now her employer. I am twice her age…

Perhaps it is best I do not pursue Miss Lovegood.

Perhaps if I wait, this belief that I am interested in her will dissipate.

Yes.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Thursday 10th October, 2002:_

No.

I want her. I think of her constantly.

It is useless for I do not believe she feels the same.

Is it worth the risk?

No. I will not allow myself to indulge in these feelings.

I think it’s best I continue with the life I led before Miss Lovegood. Madame Camille’s attendants are good enough.

I think I will fire her.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Tuesday 22nd October, 2002:_

I have fired Miss Lovegood.

She did not appear upset with my decision. Truth be told, she did not seem as though she minded. I’d rather not consider why this disappointed me greatly. Nevertheless, she is no longer in my manor therefore she is no longer in my life. In time these ridiculous ‘feelings’ for her will be gone, and all will return to normality.

Thank Merlin.

I will now begin the procurement of a suitable housekeeper.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Lucius Malfoy, dated Wednesday 13th November, 2002:_

It has taken me some time, but I believe I’ve found myself a decent housekeeper.

On her resume she lists her experience as three and a half months, she states that she is a fantastic cook, and she proclaims that her previous employer fired her for, “He was blind, an idiot, and a coward.” Why? She does not say.

I don’t care for the sauciness on her resume, but I have become desperate. The manor still remains tidy since Miss Lovegood’s termination, but I have missed her cooking, and my last attempt with the cooker was reminiscent of the bonfire I’d created prior to Miss Lovegood’s employment.

~~Truthfully, her cooking is not the only thing I miss about Miss Lovegood.~~

I’ve this inexplicable feeling that I will like this new housekeeper. I hope this is true.

**x.x**

_From the journal of Luna Lovegood, dated Thursday 14th November, 2002:_

Today I went for a job interview. It was for a housekeeping position at a house in which I’d previously worked in the not too distant past. I’d been fired by the house’s owner. He hadn’t told me why, but I’d suspected that he had fancied me and had been afraid I had not felt the same.

I think this was incredibly silly because I’d been giving him numerous hints that I did indeed fancy him as well, but the Wrackspurts had apparently got to him, and he fired me.

That’s alright. I forgive him.

That’s why I waited before I reapplied. I think he needed time for the Wrackspurts to disappear. They really can do awful things to your brain. Make it so fuzzy that you do and say the silliest things.

When I showed up, he was very shocked and demanded I leave. Of course, I did no such thing. He then attempted to pick me up and physically carry me out, and I said to him, “Mr Lucius, you are a dummy,” and I kissed him. I reached up, pulled his head down, and kissed him.

Yes. The Wrackspurts were all gone because he didn’t push me away.

No. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me in return.

**x.x end**


End file.
